


Girl, You're Tasty

by acalmingcupoftea



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acalmingcupoftea/pseuds/acalmingcupoftea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock & Joan pretend to be married to investigate the death of a contestant of the hit reality show, Temptation Island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl, You're Tasty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wallflowerdalek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflowerdalek/gifts).



> Thanks to specialrhino for the beta!
> 
> Yes, this is an absolutely ludicrous plot idea but it was really fun to write.
> 
> Happy Holidays!

“What do you think you’re doing?” Joan asked, whipping her sunglasses off her face to stare at her partner, who was currently on bended knee on the beach near the Hawaiian airport, a sparkling ring in his hand.

“Well...as you may have deduced I am proposing to you,” Sherlock replied.

Joan glared at him. “You know that’s not what I was asking,” she said, exasperated.

Sherlock had the decency to look apologetic. “It’s for the case we’re doing for Gregson’s friend here - the person killed was participating in a reality show where married couples come to,” Sherlock mimed air quotes, “‘Temptation Island,’ and their former flames are paraded in front of them to see if they give in.”

Joan’s started tapping her foot in agitation.

“In order to go ‘undercover’ and investigate we have to pretend to be married. So...will you do me the honor of becoming my spurious bride?”

Joan was not only annoyed with Sherlock, she was also annoyed with herself. She should have known a free trip to Hawaii had _some_ kind of strings attached. And just when she thought she was getting good at this investigative stuff…

Realizing Sherlock was still knee deep in sand, looking up at her with a mix of trepidation and detachment, she said, “Fine. But I’m keeping my last name.”

***

Sherlock’s arm was around Watson’s waist and it was _weird_. But it also felt...kind of good. Like it belonged there. It gave him a sense of pride to have this beautiful woman on choose to be on his arm.

Of course, Sherlock knew Watson was an attractive woman. He saw how suspects and clients looked at her. Pupils dilated, nostrils flared, actions copied - all hallmark signs of attraction.

He certainly understood why people found her attractive. Her face was more symmetrical than average, she followed societal trends when it came to fitness and fashion. And he’d be remiss to admit if he hadn’t observed some of her more _physical_ assets when the mood struck him.

But he’d never really thought of Watson, of _Joan_ as anything more than his partner.

Really. Not even once.

Okay. That was a lie. He had definitely thought of Watson as more than his protege on more than one occasion. But certainly nothing exceeding double digits. He was reasonably certain.

Joan looked uncomfortable with Sherlock’s arm around her. She must be experiencing the weirdness he felt as well. Her shoulders were back, attempting to keep as much of her body away from Sherlock’s touch as possible. Well that wouldn’t do. Sherlock hadn’t been planning on them playing the part of “couple on the rocks.”

None of the other couples seemed to have noticed them yet. They were all absorbed appearing lovey dovey for the cameras - no doubt a ploy to make themselves feel like they could win a show whose aim was to break them up.

He leaned into her, which only made her stiffen more, and whispered, “You have to relax Wats--Joan. It’s imperative that everyone here thinks we are just like them. Looking like being near me is the last thing you want right now isn’t going to help.”

“Even if it is?” Joan hissed at him, still clearly annoyed about the “surprise fake marriage!” thing.

“Look, do you want to solve a murder or not?” Sherlock said.

Joan leaned into his embrace in lieu of response and pasted a smile on her face acknowledging the host of the show as they passed.

Her hair smelled of gardenias.

***

Joan knew she shouldn’t be upset at Sherlock. He was just doing what he always did - thinking about the needs of the case above the needs of anything and anyone else. It was one of his methods, though she normally chastised him for it, that she most respected.

Just not when it meant being blindsided by a marriage proposal five thousand miles from home.

They reached the courtyard around where all of the other contestants were staying. All of the small cabanas’ front doors’ faced the courtyard. They were equipped with a well stocked, though small, kitchen, a moderately sized receiving area, and a luxurious master suite.

Joan and Sherlock entered their cabana and went to the bedroom to unpack. The bed was enormous and took up the majority of the room. Breezy fabric was draped around the four pillars of the bed frame, but Joan noted that there were heavier curtains tied at each corner of the bed as well. The bedspread was covered in rose petals shaped like a heart. Champagne sat chilling in a stand by the head of the bed.

“Well, I’ll dispose of that.” Sherlock said, taking the champagne and walking into the bathroom, intending to pour it down the sink.

Joan nodded her approval and opened a random drawer in one of the dressers to put away her things. She slammed the drawer shut almost instantly, cheeks flaming red. Inside had been vibrators, handcuffs, blindfolds, and what might have been a nurse’s outfit. They really wanted to give you all the intimacy options you required on this show.

“Everything alright?” Sherlock asked, poking his head out the bathroom door.

Joan composed herself and said, “Yes! Everything’s quite alright!”

Sherlock gave her a quizzical look but returned to the bathroom to dump the rest of the champagne. He returned a moment later with an empty bottle which he placed back in the stand.

“Now, the case!” Sherlock said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small file folder. He handed it to Joan, and she leafed through the pages as he spoke.

“The victim was thirty-three year old Colin Murdoch from upstate New York. He and his wife Janice Murdoch were entered into the competition by their friends who thought their ‘rock solid marriage’ would hold up on the show and they could easily win the cash prize.”

“I’m guessing that’s not what happened,” Joan said.

“Right. Anyhow, there were only a two couples left in the competition before Mr. Murdoch’s untimely death - Janice and Colin as well as Zelda and Pablo Espinosa. Tom St. John and Patti Lombardo, aka the ‘tempters,’ were also on the island at the time.”

“Wait, the tempters?” Joan asked, as Sherlock handed her another manila folder comprised of dossiers on the other couple and the tempters.

“St. John and Lombardo are ex-lovers of the couples and here to try and break them up. That’s how the other couples were disqualified - someone cheated.”

“Though in the case of the Murdochs, someone killed to increase their chance at the prize.”

“Precisely,” Sherlock reached for the stack of paper. Their hands brushed, and Joan was amazed, as she was every time, at how soft Sherlock’s skin was.

Sherlock shuffled through a few of the pages and brought up an image of the crime scene - a hot tub, the victim slumped backwards, head resting on the edge, arms spread. There were two champagne glasses sitting on the the wide rim of the tub.

“The coroner's report says Murdoch was killed by a poison, likely administered with the champagne. Forensics says the glasses only had Murdoch’s prints on them. And all of the cameras in the hot tub area had been deactivated.”

Joan looked up from the photo. “So what’s the angle here, the other couple killed Colin because they thought they couldn’t win? Janice was jealous of...what was her name, Lombardo?”

“Ah, actually, St. John was the ‘tempter’ for the Murdoch couple. Colin was bisexual; he dated Tom in college. For quite some time, if I’m not mistaken.”

Joan’s eyebrows widened at the revelation but she made no comment aside from, “So how do we fit into this? Why the charade of being contestants on the show?”

“The producers of the show are contractually obligated to finish out the remaining episodes and having a full police investigation would shut down shooting for quite awhile. When the head of the local police called Captain Gregson for his advice, he recommended it to me due to its...unique circumstances and requirements. And a free trip to Hawaii certainly didn’t discourage me.”

Joan smirked. “You still should have talked to me about it though. We’re _partners_ now Sherlock - you don’t get to make all the decisions by yourself anymore.”

“Honestly, would you have even considered coming if I told you of the deception required of us? This is a most unique case and I for one wasn’t going to let it slip past us.”

Joan conceded his point. She likely would have balked at the idea of being married to Sherlock, even if it was false, and convinced him to not take the case.

“Oh and one more thing,” Sherlock said over his shoulder as he crossed towards the bathroom, “Detective Bell is here, too, as an ex-flame of yours from medical school.” With that, he promptly shut the door and began running water for a bath.

Joan opened and closed her mouth a few times, at a loss for words. She then wondered how much notice Bell had had about this part of the plan. Was she truly the last one to know anything about this?

The producers said that the show wasn’t airing yet, as they wanted to finish the season out before airing it. Joan guessed there weren’t many episodes left to film since there were so few contestants. She looked at the date on her return plane ticket. They only had about two weeks to solve the case.

And what a long two weeks it would be.

***

The rope laid half buried in the sand. Sherlock didn’t quite understand why they were doing a tug of war competition, but the producers promised that it would be good for ratings.

When he saw Zelda’s bikini, he suddenly understood..

“Miss the memo bro?” Tom St. John asked. Sherlock was dressed in his usual button down and slacks but he had swapped his normal loafers for flip flops. Tom, in contrast, was wearing very short, very tight swim trunks.

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of chapstick. He slathered it on his lips while Sherlock said, “I don’t swim.”

Thankfully, Joan beckoned him over to the opposite side of the arena at that moment so he didn’t have to hear Tom’s neanderthal response.

Bell, dressed casually in a plum t-shirt and grey board shorts, was with Joan. It seemed the challenge was going to be tempters vs. couples - the winners getting...something as a prize. Sherlock hadn’t quite been listening when they were explaining the rules.

“Anything coming up, Holmes?” Bell asked when Sherlock was in earshot. He shook his head in the negative.

“The list of suspects is slim, but everyone here had motive and opportunity,” Joan said. Sherlock smiled to himself. She had come a long way since they first started their partnership over a year ago. It made him feel no little amount of pride, which was equalled by his happiness on her behalf.

“I’d keep an eye on St. John and Zelda,” Bell said. “I’m getting a vibe from them.”

Sherlock was about to retort that “vibes” didn’t solve murder cases when the host of the show - a fake-tanned, blond thirty-something - called them to take their starting positions.

Due to the untimely death of her husband, Janice was sitting out the event. The tempters lined up with Patti in front and Tom at the end. Tom swabbed his lips with chapstick again before taking hold of the rope.

Pablo was the anchor of the couples’ team with Zelda leading them, followed by Joan then Sherlock. Sherlock, for one appreciated the view this vantage gave him of his partner.

The whistle blew and each side started to tug. Sherlock noticed that both Zelda and Tom were very aggressive in this asinine sport. Patti looked bored but was giving it her all. Joan and himself were certainly not doing much for the game but Pablo was a respectable anchor. 

The two sides were evenly matched until Sherlock’s hands, drenched with sweat from wearing a dress shirt in the stifiling heat, slipped from the rope. Without the extra person, Tom took the opportunity to tug with all his might, and easily pulled the rest of the couple’s team to the ground.

“And the winner is….” The host paused for dramatic effect. “The Tempters!!”

“What were you _thinking_ , man?” Pablo exploded at Sherlock. “Who wears a _dress shirt_ to the beach? We could have won!” Pablo shoved Sherlock and he fell into the sand.

Sherlock was about to reply when Joan stepped in front of him. 

“Hey! They were going to get win anyway - didn’t you see how Tom was positioning his feet? He was letting us tire ourselves out. It had nothing to do with Sherlock - Tom was just biding his time.”

The combination of Joan’s words and Zelda coming up to him in her skimpy swimsuit calmed Pablo’s temper. Joan helped Sherlock up.

“I could have handled it.” He said, annoyed that Joan felt the need to intervene but also secretly pleased that she had defended him.

“I’m sure you could have but I would rather not have it end in a fistfight due to him not understanding your vocabulary.”

Sherlock smirked as she walked over to the next event for the show, where Tom was, once again, slathering chapstick on his lips. She knew him so well.

***

“’Meet me at the beach,’ he said. ‘It’s a nice secluded cove,’ he said. He didn’t say a hike would be involved!” Joan grumbled, making her way over the last of the hills.

She could see Sherlock down by the beach, a small fire in front of him, turning something over it. Joan made her way down the hill, the crunching of her sandals on the gravel announcing her presence to Sherlock.

He smiled up at her which was so uncharacteristic of Sherlock that she forgot her annoyed tirade about the hike.

“What do you think, Joan?” He gestured at the ocean view.

She had to admit, it was breathtaking. The sun was just starting to set, and the ocean looked crystal clear like a mirror. The sand was perfect, unsullied by cigarette butts and old bottles like most beaches were, and warm between her toes as she walked over to Sherlock.

“Tonight, we are having grilled mahi mahi with a pineapple glaze, a small salad with guava dressing, and for dessert coconut cake en flambé!” Sherlock exclaimed, removing the fish from the fire and carrying it to a small prep table.

“That sounds…really good,” Joan said, sitting down in one of the beach chairs by the fire. “Though I have to ask, why did you do all this? I know cooking isn’t your favorite thing…”

“For the illusion, of course. All of the other couples and tempters are constantly trying to outdo each other with dates and displays of affection. Have to act the part of the married couple.”

He carried two plates over to her, the fish resting next to the salad, both glaze and dressing glistening in the firelight. After handing her one, he took a seat next to her on the beach chairs.

The fish was tender and a little sweet with the crisp salad being a nice texture compliment. Joan had to admit – she was impressed.

“This is delicious, Sherlock!” Joan said, in between bites. “Were you following a recipe?”

Sherlock looked perturbed as he said, “No, I made it up with what looked fresh in the store. Mycroft is not the only cook in the family.”

Joan swallowed hard before saying, “I wasn’t trying to…”

“It’s fine.” Sherlock said, still visibly annoyed. They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Are you…” Sherlock started, focusing on his now empty plate instead of her. “Are you happy with me?”

Joan looked at him, confused. “Of course I am. Our partnership is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I never thought I would find a career as challenging and fulfilling as being a surgeon. I wouldn’t give it up for the world.”

Sherlock’s eyes flickered towards her, a look of pain flashing across them briefly before returning their normal, distanced expression. He stood up abruptly and went to get the cake from the prep table.

When he returned, slices aflame, Joan directed her brightest smile at him and asked, “Are you happy with _me_?”

“Of course, Watson,” he said, the light from the cake illuminating his face. His lips were a neutral line, his face glum. “Nothing makes me happier than you.”

He looked up at her, alarmed, “Solving cases with you. Solving cases.”

With that, he blew out his cake slice and his features were masked in darkness.

***

By the next afternoon Joan still hadn’t shaken off the events of the previous evening. Why had Sherlock asked her those questions? Why had her answers made him seem so...sad? Only something like the Irene fiasco of last year had ever cracked Sherlock’s disaffected facade. He had tricked her into a tropical getaway and they were working an interesting case. He should be at his peak happiness.

So when Bell came out from behind the palm trees scattered along the path leading to the island’s natural hot springs, Joan cut herself some slack for yelp sprung from her mouth.

“Joan, Joan, it’s only me! Marcus,” Bell said, making himself look less intimidating by putting his hands up.

“Sorry Marcus, I was just...distracted.” Joan paused. “You’re not Sherlock. I was supposed to be meeting him here.”

“Ah,” Bell said. “About that...In order to use any of your footage, which the producers are insisting they _have_ to air, even though they know you’re here in an official capacity, there needs to be a temptation moment. And since I’m the ‘tempter,’” Bell rolled his eyes at the statement, “that’s what’s happening. Right now.”

Joan unsuccessfully tried to stifle her chuckle. When Bell started to frown, she quickly said, “I’m laughing because this whole thing - the show, the case, you pretending to be my tempter - is just so _ridiculous_. Who watches this stuff?”

Her words seemed to have the opposite effect than she intended. Bell’s frown deepened and he looked sheepishly down at the ground.

“Come on,” Joan said, lightly touching his arm lightly in hopes of bringing him back to his usual self. “Let’s head down to the beach. Look at the waves.” Suddenly the idea of being in the steamy hot springs with Bell was the last thing she wanted. What if Bell started acting weird on her, too?

“Have there been any breakthroughs in the case?” Joan asked as they walked side by side down the path.

Bell shook his head no. They continued in silence for a few minutes.

“Have you seen anyone doing anything...suspicious?” Joan continued, trying to get him to talk. They were almost at the beach now.

When he didn’t respond again, Joan stopped and turned Marcus so that he was facing her. She tried to catch his eye, but he evaded her.

“What’s on your mind? It’s not like you to be so distant.”

Insteading of replying, Bell reached out and gently cupped Joan’s face before bringing his lips against hers. His hand was callused, probably from police work. His lips, in contrast, were soft and gentle. Neither asking for nor giving too much.

The kiss lasted only a few moments but all Joan could do was compare Bell to her vision of what Sherlock would be like, how his skin would be prickly from his many days of stubble, his lips more aggressive against her own.

Bell stepped away from her and said, his voice growing quiet, “...I don’t think it’s that ridiculous…you and...me.”

“Oh...Marcus…” Joan said, touching his arm to lead him to a bench facing the ocean. The waves were crashing rhythmically against the shoreline.

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re great but you’re a valued friend and colleague to me. I don’t think I can ever see you as more than that.”

Bell silently looked out at the ocean.

“But you think you might see Holmes that way?” he finally asked, voice quiet but tense.

It was in that moment that Joan knew what she wanted to do.

***

“Ah, Watson, back so soon? How was the temptation?” Sherlock asked, not looking up from the papers he was studying on the floor. His voice dripped with amusement.

He heard Joan walk past him and enter the bedroom. A few drawers slammed open and shut but he didn’t think anything of it. He was on the cusp of solving this case. What was the connecting link between…

“Sherlock,” Joan called. “Can you come in here please?”

Sherlock sighed, his concentration broken, and got up to enter the bedroom.

“Yes, Watson?” he asked, annoyed. Not with her but with the thing nagging him at the back of his mind. The connection between St. John and….

Joan smiled at him. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And I’ve deduced that there is...something here.” She gestured between the two of them.

For once, Sherlock was at a loss for words. Joan waited a moment for his response, and when he furnished none, she continued. “And instead of waiting around, denying it, I think we should do something about it. Get it out in the open.” She came closer and grabbed his wrist.

When he still didn’t say anything, she spun him around and pushed him onto the bed. Instantly, she was on top of him.

He looked up at her, nonplussed. “What?” Joan asked, tying her hair up into a loose bun. “Is this not something you want?” Her legs, straddling him, gave a little squeeze. Sherlock was sure he was going to lose his mind.

“It’s not….that.” He managed to get out before succumbing to the moan he was trying to keep inside. “ _I_ want this very much. I just want to make sure this is something you want, as well.”

Joan answered by removing her cotton shirt and nude bra.

“Well...now that that’s all settled…” Sherlock said before reaching up, slipping a hand behind her head and one on her breast, pulling her towards him.

Their first kiss was explosive, all the feelings both of them had been ignoring and suppressing, for who knows how many months, finally being expressed. 

Sherlock forced his lips, always moving so quickly to keep up with his brain, to slow down, to savor this moment, to savor Joan.

Her hands moved swiftly, surgically almost, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside. His pants and hers followed soon after. She ran her hands over the tattoo on his arm, studying it. She sat back.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really had the chance to appreciate your tattoos.” She purred. Joan got off of Sherlock and indicated that he should turn over onto his stomach. Sherlock lay on his stomach and felt a bit like a bug under a microscope from the scrutiny Joan was giving him. But there was thrill to her full, undivided attention just on him.

He could feel Joan lean down and slowly kiss the various tattoos on his back. He shivered in pleasure at the sensation.

Joan flipped him back over and Sherlock half-sat up to kiss her. He tugged at her underwear, the only piece of clothing they were both still wearing, and found no resistance to it’s removal. He tossed the pale blue underwear with the growing pile of clothes around the bed.

She broke the kiss and pushed Sherlock back down on the bed, kissing down his stomach until she reached the waistband of his boxer-briefs. She promptly removed them and was greeted with Sherlock’s erection.

Joan didn’t even flinch, taking his penis into her mouth. She started out slow, gradually moving her mouth up and down the shaft of his penis. Sherlock was breathing hard, trying to keep himself under as much control as possible. The last thing he needed now was to finish before anything had even gotten started.

When Joan’s hand grasped his balls, Sherlock could no longer hold in the sounds of his pleasure. Joan looked smug, like it was obvious that she could so easily control him.

Sherlock took a deep breath to bring down his heart rate as Joan left the bed and went over to one of the dresser drawers. She rummaged inside and pulled out a box of condoms. Ripping one open with her teeth, she returned to the bed and rolled it on him.

She was straddling him again but he wasn’t yet inside her. He let out a sound of frustration on behalf of his penis.

Joan smirked and then leaned down and captured his mouth with hers. Her tongue slipped into his mouth just as she took him inside herself and it was almost too much for Sherlock. Her vagina was tight and wet. She moved her hips up and down, up and down in a rhythmic motion. 

Sherlock’s hands were greedy, touching every part of Joan that he could. He never thought he’d get this chance to feel her curves, skin against skin. He broke the kiss and leaned up to Joan, capturing her nipple and part of her breast with his mouth. Joan let out a moan of pleasure and started moving faster. He switched to the other nipple, having much the same effect.

Joan forced his head up from her bosom and back to her mouth. She leaned him back onto the bed, slowing down her pace. Sherlock was so focused on kissing Joan that he didn’t realize she had taken his hands from her body.

It wasn’t until he heard the clink of the handcuffs that he realized what was going on.

Sherlock broke away from her. “What’s this?” he asked, tugging at the handcuffs which pinched both of his wrists to the bed frame. He was completely at her mercy. Joan smirked at him and he became even more aroused.

Joan didn’t respond, she merely started making figure eights with her hips, a quiet moan escaping her lips. The friction against his dick was amazing.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Sherlock half cried, half said. He strained at the handcuffs, but there was no give. The fact that he could look but not touch, made him want her more.

Joan did a few more figure eights, sighing and breathing heavily the whole time, before returning her attentions to Sherlock’s lips. Her hip movements returned to the up and down motion from the beginning, gradually building up speed until Sherlock thought he would lose it at any moment.

When he felt Joan stiffen and then relax against him, he knew she was finished and he allowed himself to dive headfirst into the pool of pleasure. Joan looked down at him and grinned. They lay there for a few moments, trying to catch their breaths.

“I think it’s time you have a go in the handcuffs,” Sherlock said, before wrapping his legs around Joan and pulling her into a passionate kiss.

***

“...son! Watson! I’ve done it!” Sherlock’s voice drifted into her consciousness, coaxing her awake. “Well, really we did it.”

Sherlock was sitting naked on the floor surrounded by papers from the case. Joan sat up in bed. 

“You...figured it out?” she asked groggily.

“There was this...connection in the back of my mind,” Sherlock said, now up and rummaging through Joan’s suitcase. “A connection between the murderer and the murder weapon, and it wasn’t until our tryst last night that I was able to put it all together. Sex is truly the best mind clearer!” He threw a sundress at Joan followed shortly by a pair of underwear and a bra.

Joan pulled the sundress off her head. “How did St. John do it?” she asked.

“Ah, so you deduced it, too. I think everyone knew the who and the why, just not the how.” Sherlock was pacing the room, still stark naked.

“Sherlock, put some pants on,” Joan said, exasperated.

Sherlock glanced down at himself as if noticing for the first time that he was still in his skivvies. He found a pair of boxers on the floor and pulled them on as he said, “Something about St. John was off ever since we met him - he wears chapstick. Too much chapstick for any normal person. I’m sure that if we analyze it, we’ll find it laced with an addictive poison.” 

Joan sat up fully in bed, pulling the sundress over her head and undergarments, “That makes sense! No one would suspect something as normal as chapstick to be the murder weapon and the heat from the hot tub must have accelerated the poison spreading in Murdoch’s system.”

Sherlock, now fully dressed in his usual slacks and dress shirt, nodded his agreement. “Let’s find Bell so we can arrest him and get the hell off this bloody temptation island.”

The St. John confrontation went easier than expected. When Sherlock revealed his theory - a kiss in the hot tub with poison laced lips - St. John all but cracked under the discovery.

“Colin was supposed to love _me_ and be with _me_ forever. If I couldn’t have him, no one could!” St. John shouted, as Bell handcuffed him.

“Seems someone took this whole ‘Temptation Island’ thing a bit too seriously.” Bell said and with one last look at Joan, put St. John into the squad car.

Sherlock turned to Joan and grinned, gently holding her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry there wasn't as much porn as the title would suggest.


End file.
